


O Cousin, My Cousin

by orphan_account



Series: Intricacy [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! DUBCON, Brotherly love too, Coma, Drinking, Drunk fighting, EXPLICIT INCEST IN THE FIRST CHAPTER K, How the fuck do you tag things??, Humanstuck, Intricacystuck, Kankri is a history teacher, M/M, Relationship Problems, Some Incest, TW: Emetophobia, attempted suicide, but the rest not so much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-11
Updated: 2013-02-05
Packaged: 2017-11-20 22:21:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/590277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four times in which Eridan Ampora and Cronus Ampora are forced to explore the confusing and tumultuous relationship of familial bonds they share, from hatred to affection.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "Practice"

**Author's Note:**

> so now that i have my laptop i decided hey lets explore eridan and cronus' relationship in intricacy  
> so um yes Eridan and Cronus are cousins  
> rolls away in humiliation
> 
> WARNING ////EXPLICIT INCEST//// IN THIS CHAPTER ALRIGHT>???????????????????/ K
> 
> also seahorsedad is the gramps ok  
> just gonna throw that out there

There was always a sense of revulsion in you.  
Especially on the topic of your cousin, Cronus.

Your name is Eridan Ampora, and you hate him with every fiber of your being. If you could, you would rip him, break him, hurt him, destroy him. You feel a burning black hatred for him, and everything about him. From that stupidly charming smile, to the cunning, burning manipulation, and especially--especially the way he touches you.

You want to shoot that stupidly charming grin off his leacherous, greedy face.

He first touches you less directly, but still in a way which you know now as wrong, when you are barely old enough to feel any reciprocating feelings, but not old enough to completely understand what he's doing to you. The first time he tries this twisted game called "practice," it is a lip battle and you aren't completely sure what is happening. He's kissing you, and it registers as strange. You squirm in his grip with a few dissenting noises, but he doesn't let go or let you fight. He just holds you, and, almost regrettably, you do something like melt. His lips feel strangely warm, and it gets you more than a little flustered, your face ripened a fine cherry color for too long after he left your room, you yourself blogging to try and get your mind off of it. After just moving his lips against yours, coaxing you to respond, his tongue swipes against your lip and you stiffen slightly, making another noise in the back of your throat, and you frown as you try to process what he wants. He gets what he wants, though; he pries your lips open, sliding his tongue into your mouth and you are so, so tempted to bite him. But it's giving you a heady feeling, almost pleasant in a way, and so you grumpily concede, and tentatively respond. It's confusing, and disorienting, and its almost too much and you're both pressed together as you try to kiss him more, holding onto him as though the world would end if he managed to slip through your fingers. And when he pulls away, you're confused, very, helplessly confused, a bit scared, and you are not sure whether to cling to him or punch him and start crying.

You end up clinging to him, and he whispers how good you did "for a first-timer," petting your hair gently.

It's nice to feel wanted.

* * *

When you're in middle school, and he's in high school, your cousin touches you for the first time, more directly and you are definitely lost.

He comes home complaining, mostly about the "Peixes bitch" (you can't help but agree, and Fef's sister scares the living shit out of you) and then locks his steam-venting radar on you. At first you think he's going for the normal antagonizing--that is to say, punching and kicking and a multitude of bruises you'll have to do hard to hide from that Korean asshole Captor who will not leave you the fuck alone. But instead, he grabs you, pulls you into his room, and pushes you down on his bed. You shuffle uncomfortably as he climbs on top of you, making the bed depress with the added weight, and then he starts to kiss you. You make a sound as he presses closer against you, and you wrap your arms around his neck, shivering as he quickly escalates things. You're still squirming under him when he changes tactics and reaches down, hand sliding up your shirt. Your eyes widen and you squirm, making a complaint that gets swallowed by his mouth. You're trying to buck him off of you, alarmed because it feels strange, feeling his hand directly on your skin, searching, and it's making your face burn hot with rage and humiliation.

"C-Cro-"

"Shut up."

He scratches you and you cry out, shocked, angry, infuriated. You try to buck him off of you, punching at his back, and he retaliates by pulling you on the hair and forcing you back down. You try to scream for your grandfather. He'd help you, he'd help you out of this situation that was making everything so confusing--

Your dissent is sucked away by more mouth and tongue. You moan almost miserably, squeezing your eyes tight behind haphazardly placed glasses, and try and scratch his back. He merely groans against you, and bucks his hips against you, and you yelp, shivering as heat starts to consume you. You want him to stop, but you don't, and the intense warring of emotions is making it harder and harder to think. His hands are slipping past your faded skinny-jeans and then you start to put up more of a fight, making a cry of shock and confusion and fear against his lips, because no, what the  _fuck_ is he doing, you don't know how to deal with this-?

His hands are in your boxer-briefs, and stroking you slowly, with a purpose, and you make a low, gritty moan, almost on the verge of tears as the heat grows even more suffocating. You babble almost incoherently, trying to get him to stop, but he just kisses you into silence, and you relent, because after casting off the anxiety and fear, it feels... kind of nice. The way he touches you makes your breathing grow more ragged, and makes you feel hot and stiff and your legs are shaking as he settles between them. You didn't even realize that he'd been biting at your neck until you feel moistness gather on your adams apple from his tongue. He continues to touch you, stroking in firm movements, that have you gasping, breathless, hair sticking to your face - dyed black, a reflection of how you feel - and his own fiery red hair was slightly sweat-slicked as well. You weren't sure what was going on, things seemed to move sluggishly on your end, and all you were really sure of was Cronus' hand on your dick and mouth on your neck and that you were moaning and writhing under him with almost desperate need.

"Cro- P-Please-"

You didn't even know what you were begging for, but then your pants were being pulled a little lower, about mid-thigh, and his fingers were touching everything and you were utterly red in the face from arousal. Something throbbing and slick nudged its way next to your own arousal, and you blinked, frazzled, huffing as you tried to focus, but all you could see was Cronus' head as he sucked at your neck; you ended up falling back down against the bed, bucking your hips in an unexperienced way, sobbing breathlessly because a tighter grip was suddenly around that sensitive part of your anatomy, and there was even more heat being added to the already aching need in the form of Cronus' own length, and you were clinging to him, legs tangling with his own, bucking up against him and begging for something, anything in a pleading mantra, and --

 

You screamed. Loudly. And ended up blacking out.  
Later, and a lot later, probably a few days later when, after another session (and this time you were more prepared, less helpless, and able to reciprocate more) you'd mentioned how you were confused of 'why gramps didn't come fuckin' bargin' when he heard me screamin',' he'd tell you he barely muffled you by smothering you with a pillow until you'd stopped screaming and crying. Not hard enough to suffocate, but enough to make you stay quiet.

When you came to, more immediately, Cronus was still laying on top of you, breathing hard and heavy against your shoulder. You felt hot, sticky, and your stomach felt even more gross, slimy in a way. You grimaced, and tried to sit up, legs trembling, and body sore.

"C-Cro? Get off."

"Mghgh. No. You're nice n' squishy."

You punched him in the face.

It felt really good.

 

You decide after a while that you only sometimes hate the enigma that is Cronus Ampora.


	2. "Suicidal"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Eridan has had enough and Cronus comes to the rescue in two separate instances, and Kanaya makes a debut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: eridan throws up and self harm and self hate

Your name is Eridan Ampora and you are 15 years old.

You are very tired, and your mouth tastes bitter.

Its a stale kind of tone, something that justly reflects your current outlook on life. Everything seems very stale and bitter, and you don't feel well at all.

You were released from the psyche ward a couple weeks ago.

* * *

_"It doesn't feel good now-w, does it? W-want to join them, dear cousin?"_

_Cronus looked horrified, terrified, shaking and starting to snivel a little. His face was unusually pallid._  
 _You didn't care._

_Everything hurt. Everything was stale and lifeless and you wanted your life back. You were tired of everything. You don't feel well. Your head hurts, and you feel sick, and you want to scream, and everything is roaring at you and its all overwhelming and too much, just, too much. Your conscience had shut down, your everything had shut down, and all you felt was this roaring anger and misery, this crippling apathy that spurred you to action._

_You wrap your fingers tighter around the gun; your hands aren't shaking. The sky is cloudy. Theres chalk on the ground now stained with blood, and you're not sure if its theirs, or yours._

_Feferi, unconscious, gunshot in the chest. Kanaya, floored, gunshot to the gut. Captor, writhing in pain, blind by mace._

_Fucker probably had a violent concussion too; after all, you did beat him with the butt of your pistol exactly 22 times. He should be grateful you indulged in his fucking stupid bifurcation kink._

_"Eridan, chief, come on--"_

_He screamed, honest to god afraid when the first shot whizzed past his ear, embedding into a tree trunk. You were wholly unaffected._

_"Doesn't feel nice to be scared and hawin' to second guess ewerythin' does it now-w."_

_He recoiled, sobbing grossly, snotting a little and afraid for his life as you smiled hollowly, cocking the gun and raising it, aiming right between the eyes._  
 _Your stomach hurt; it felt warm and wet, and everything hurt._

_You wanted to kill everyone. Wanted them to suffer like you did; you were living in hell, and you wanted revenge._

_"Second shot, Cro. Not gonna miss this time."_

_The ground rushed to your face and shouts of 'drop the gun' echoed amidst all the chaos when everything went black._

* * *

It was a year or two since you almost killed Cronus. You take your medicine every day, though recently you've been spitting them out. Doing whatever you could, because you were busy. Everything seems sad and listless now. You yearn for a solace, for anything; the world is in monotone, a blended grayscale, and the only thing that keeps you sane for now is wistfully eying the now-locked gun cabinets.

It occurs to you that your father believes you are a flight risk rom the land of sanity. And maybe you are. But if you well and truly are, you had been since a very long time, a long, long time, and there had been no one to be the wiser and realize it. It kind of clicks, in your mind. It must be true, what the therapists said, that you had so many problems. You maybe hate yourself.

You give a sullen stare at the anti-freeze and pour a glass-full. This would be no fairy tail. You would leave no note. You didn't have the will to write one.

Nor anyone to write to.

You heave a miserable sigh and look to the window, eyes lidded.

It seems deathly quiet. There are no sounds, save for your own uneven, measured breaths. You try to keep from crying; the pain is intangible, clenching and tight and unsettling in your chest. Your face twists, with an attempt to contain the grief, and then you grasp the glass of liquid suicide with shaking hands. It smells something fierce, a prickly sweet smell, and yet you feel wholly unaffected as it slides past your lips when you drink it.

Then you recoil in shock, dropping the glass when the door slams open and Cronus steps in. It shatters on the floor around you, just like something inside you, which had by then cracked into a million tiny shards. You feel some liquid dribbling from the corner of your lip and the anti-freeze bottle you stole from the garage stands accusingly for the world to bear witness.

He has you in a headlock, wrestling you over the toilet before you can think, and you're blindly trying to fight the grip around your neck. You try to scream at him, but his fingers shove down your throat and your jaw locks and your body grows stiff as you end up throwing up.

Your stomach aches and you can't breathe, everything burns, especially your throat, and you're trembling, gasping and coughing. You're being held, tightly, and your ears are ringing as the induced action triggers a chain, and you end up heaving for what seems like forever but is only really a few minutes. Cronus still holds you, tight, swearing softly against your neck as he keeps you stable.

You squeeze your eyes shut, the rancid smell of bile making you dizzy, and then you start to slowly build up a struggle.

Cronus tightens his grip and pulls your cell-phone from your pocket, dialing 9-1-1. You scream at him, spit at him, try to get him to not do what he's doing, to just  _let you die_ and fuck off (though the insult you spit at him is more verbose, more angry, more vulgar) and you are basically pulled flush against him, but hardly in a romantic way. This embrace, unlike what had happened in your younger years, is more like it should have been; protective, almost brotherly in a way (you were essentially brothers, after all; Cronus had lived with you since your namesake, Eridan Ampora Sr., Cronus' father, lived in Scottland and frankly was far too busy to raise a son. Your own dad was okay with taking Cronus under his wing and then shucking you both onto their father, your grandfather) and you sobbed, but could find no more tears to cry.

"Calm dowvn."

You feel sluggish and lethargic and you feel nauseous. You're stumbling as he pulls you along, down the stairs. You can't think, you're fucking tired, and you want to hit Cronus but you can't manage to do anything but try to speak.

"Don'... C-Cro-"

You try to slip out of his grip, but you can't coordinate anything and everything is blurring, even with your glasses on.  
Your now-red hair is a mess.

He swears at you again, but you don't really hear him.

 

When you wake up next it's to your least favorite place and you're getting nervous. You blink, slowly, feeling unsatisfied, generally upset, and Cronus is there but the moment he sees you awake he refuses to speak. You're hooked barely onto life, with a multitude of tubing and IVs running through you like you're a fucking pin cushion, and frankly, the fact that the fucker that saved your life doesn't even want to look at you is more wounding than you'd care to admit. You're weak, right now, in the mind, and in the body.

You want to cry.

So you do. Silently, with heaving little movements, hands covering your face as though you were some kind of monster to the eyes of society. And you are--oh, you damn well know you are. There is no denying that. Not in a million fucking years. But no tears, no actual tears. You don't know where your tears are anymore.

Cronus does nothing to stop you, to console you, and that was probably one of his biggest failings in his eyes.

(You wouldn't know because you are not and never will be him.)

* * *

Two weeks later, you try again.

Cronus is watching you like a hawk; refusing to let you settle down, refusing to let you be by yourself, going so far to be your personal chauffer and your jailor, in effect. He'd make sure you took your medicine without fail, giving you judging, hypocritical eyes. You truly hate it. You feel less, you feel miserable, you feel so exhausted and tired and solemn and your house feels like your coffin.  
When you're alone, about to shower (right after you take your pills) you turn on the shower, sit yourself on your knees in front of the toilet, and shove your fingers down your throat.

Your teeth look a bit yellower.

You managed to slip out the window of the living room and get the fuck away. You run, getting away from the one person that ruined any chance of release from this intense suffering, run away from a life without release from your cycle of torment. You don't want to suffer here anymore. You don't want to live like this anymore. What's a life where you have all the material possessions you could want, but you have no one but your own twisted, demented thoughts? Feferi abandoned you. She hasn't talked to you since. You fucked up everything with Kanaya--she hadn't ever done anything to you, but you attacked her, because she got in the way, because you weren't  _right_ (you heard them talk about you--the doctors. When you were slouched in the bed, unable to move, drugged up seven ways to Sunday. They talked outside your door, and while it was hard to understand when being so doped on various drugs as you were, you did pick up the terms 'personality disorder,' 'generalized anxiety,' and 'severe depression') and it all culminated in your grand failing as a decent human being.

So when you find yourself finally calming down, in a back alley in some obscure location (you don't even know where you are and it makes your chest clench and an unquenchable fear overcome you), you look around, hands shaking, for some way to alleviate the pressure about to break you down. You're cold. You ran out in nothing but a t-shirt and some sweat-pants, having been essentially confined to house arrest until your therapist deemed you in suitable condition to regress into society, and you're shaking, breathing unsteadily as you drop to your knees, looking.

You find shards of a broken mirror strewn near the dumpster.

(You would later come to learn that it was the result of Vriska's shenanigan.)

The burn you feel when the jagged edge cuts your skin is a relief and you sob dryly.

Then you hear a familiar voice and your blood runs cold (especially from your arms, dripping onto the concrete with a plip, plip, plip sound, cool and tangy metallic; frankly, the open wounds provide you more comfort than your own bed and it's fucking depressing, to you). You turn and you see Kanaya standing, and her eyes widen as she looks upon you, and frankly, you're the slightest bit bemused in the most sardonic of ways. You must look like a mess; your hair is unkempt, disgraceful, and your eyes have dark circles under them from lack of sleep. Your skin is sallow, slightly yellowed, and you look like a mess. Your hands are shaking as you drop the bloody shard, arms stained a morbid sanguine.

"Oh God," She whispers and then gets onto her knees, in front of you, putting her hands on your shoulders. You feel so weak, so tired, and you're done. You're  _fucking_ done and you look up at her pleadingly. "Eridan, what have you done, this requires medical attention--"

You interrupt her with a small, wounded sound in the back of your throat. She looks at you, still shocked for words.  
  
"Kan, I w-want to die already. Thin's w-would be better w-with me gone."

She gives you this horrified look, as though you've shot her again, and you can only weep, fresh tears finally coming, later than they should have (maybe if they had come then, two weeks ago, you wouldn't be in this mess and Cronus would care about you again, even if it would have been like before, which had set you on the path to self-destruction). You hide your head, bowing it so your ragged locks obscure your face, trying to compose what little pride you have left. She doesn't move, doesn't speak, and you shake your head, your hands now slightly pooling with blood, due to your posture.

"I'm sorry. God, I'm so sorry. Kan, I'm so fucked up. I'm so fuckin' fucked, Kan, I'm not normal, I'm not right, thin's w-would be better if I w--were dead! God, don't you--don't you fuckin' _get it_ \-- Kan, w-why th-the fuck do you care, god, I fuckin'  _shot_ you w-why-"

You don't realize how hard you're shaking until she grasps you into a hug. She pets your hair and you're crying even harder, trembling miserably. "Eridan, please... Calm down. Please. You're wrong. Oh, Eridan, you're wrong."

She holds you, and it was what you needed.

"Eridan... I'm going to call Cronus."

You jolt.

"Fuck no, oh, god, please, don't call him-"

She purses her lips and dials a number.

You're a little too dizzy to run.

So then, you have to see the look on Cronus' face as he comes into the alley, car parked outside of it, with Kanaya having wrapped both of your arms. But the bandages were already growing bloody again, and you were so tired, so, so tired.

"I think he requires medical attention for this wound, Cronus."

He gives you a look, but you're too busy looking at the shard that inflicted your wounds. You're tempted to make a grab for it again and just end it.

He spoils your plans when he grasps you in a firm, but not suffocating hold, helping you up.

"...Yeah."

He's quiet as he brings you to his truck, helping you into the passenger's seat, and then starts the car, driving to the hospital while barely adhering to driving laws.

"Vwhat the fuck do you think you're doin', chief."

He actually addresses you for the first time since you tried to kill yourself the first time.

"Gettin' rid a' myself. Ewerythin'll be better that w-way. You'll be happier."

Vaguely, you see him seethe from the corner of your eye, as though he wants to hit you. It takes a few more moments as he runs a yellow, and makes a barking sound.

"Vwhy the  _fuck_ vwould you think that it vwould make  _anyone_ happier?"

His voice has risen now and your head hurts, pounding a little harder. Your lip trembles as you look away from him, unable to bear it; unable to bear the anger that Cronus had.

"... I w-wasn't w-wanted. W-wanted or needed. I'm s-sorry. I'm... I'm sorry. I'm a f-fuckin' failure. Miserable piece'a shit blemish on our name. 'S'better if I disappear."

 He looks like he wants to kill you. Frankly, if you knew he would, you'd let him.

Instead, he takes you to the hospital, and forces you to stumble into the ER, where you're taken into a room and put under for stitching (and because of the fact that you started flipping the fuck out once you belatedly realized where you were and so they really just needed to you chill out).

 

You wake up again to a powder-blank room, unnaturally, synthetically bright. The lights irritate you and you blink against them, shuffling slightly. Your arms feel numb. Your mouth feels dry. You shuffle and look to the side, to see Cronus looking at you again.

Unlike last time, though, he pierces you with a glare, and speaks.

"God fuckin' damn it, kid, you vwould think that you'd get the fuckin' clue. You'wve had me fucking worried, you'wve had evw'ryone fuckin' vworried you piece a' shit." He swallows thickly and you actually feel remorseful for a moment before you slip back in your now-regular apathy. "You don't fuckin' get it, god, I'm pissed ta  _hell_ that you can't fuckin' look past your nose to see how bad you're fuckin' vwith us."

Everything just feels plain and sad. You don't know how to explain the feeling better than that.

"... Why do you ewen care, Cro."

He falters, legitimately faltering as to explain why he actually cares. You don't know exactly how to feel about that; it's either he doesn't actually care about you, or he doesn't even know why. "...You're still my cousin. God. Fuck. I know I'vwe done bad things to you but _vwe're still related_ , vwe still liwve in the same house, I'wve still spent most of my life vwatchin' over you and takin' care of you and fuck me if that's gonna stop now."

You still don't know what impells you to do what you do next.  
First, you lick your lips, looking up at the slightly cracked, aged ceiling. It's a bit dirty and you don't have any explanation as to why that bothers you so much, giving you the impetus to grimace.

"... Didn't seem like it when I got thrown in the nuts-house, Cro. Didn't seem like it when I got let out. So, why now."

You raise a hand, attached to a wrapped, stitched arm, and form your fist into a pretend gun.

With practiced ease, you make a shooting motion, pointed at Cronus' face. The way he cringes made you almost sorry for doing it.

"Bang. You're dead. Did you forget I almost killed you."

Almost longingly, you raise your hand to your own head, pointing your index finger at your temple, and repeat the motion.

"Bang. Now I'm dead, too. Should'we killed m'self when I had th' chance, an' the gun."

It's almost comical the expression of mortification and sheer debilitating terror he wears for a few moments, and how close he is to crying. You think that experiencing fear as a result of his almost-brother threatening to kill him gave him PTSD. But, its not your problem, you suppose, and he'd never admit it. It takes him a while to compose himself, in any case, which merely reaffirms your sheer terribleness (and regardless of whether or not that was a word, you would say that it was completely accurate, that you were a horrendous, pathetic excuse for a human being). "Shut up. I vwas scared of you and I had a good reason. Just because I vwas scared of you doesn't mean I didn't care about you."

You want to call him out on that. Because no, he doesn't actually care about you, at least to your knowledge. And you're pretty damn resolute on that fact. If he cared so much, wouldn't he have done anything after the first time?

"... Wanna rip the stitches out."

He gives you a look that tells you if you even try he will not even hesitate to strangle you until you're blue in the face. The slap he gives you on the side of the head is reassuring, at least, and makes you feel better. At least he's willing to touch you, you think. "Touch those stitches and I'll punch you in the face."

Just to see if he's serious, you do. And he does, too. Though he gets chewed out something fierce by the nurses, you can't help but smile, even to a miniscule degree. Maybe you'll take his claims of caring about you a little more seriously.

 

You end up going to the therapist three times a week. You kind of hate him, and by kind of, you mean you want to reach over from your couch and strangle the fucking daylights out of him. All bullshit and skeptical idiocy, that's what he spews from his fucking mouth; the only reason why you didn't try to kill him with your own two hands was because for all the inability to be a decent being, he made you popcorn and that made all the visits worth it.

Cronus still hovers over you like a hawk. Watches you and coddles you and sometimes it makes you want to wretch. He caught you trying to throw up your pills a few days after the doctors (read: paranoid bastards) let you go, and told your quack of a therapist; now he unkindly barges into the bathroom the moment he hears anything that sounds like you retching. It doesn't really help that there is a key to the bathroom that your grandfather provides Cronus with when learning for the reason of his asking for it, so your privacy gets nulled. Sometimes he makes you want to scream, but one day, when the weight of it all is too much, and you collapse on your bed in a fit of tears and screaming into your pillow, he comes in, and he sees you.

You didn't know he was such a good hugger. You felt safe, for once, felt wanted, and you wept. The tears that didn't come at the right time finally came, and those tears were finally, properly wiped away. He genuinely cared about you.

A few more days after that, and you stop trying to throw up your pills. A few more days after that, and you stop trying to find ways to hurt yourself. A few more days after that, and you start to try and reach out to the world again. A month after, you finally talk to Kanaya, and she's all over you like a doting mother, and actually physically comes to your house (the large, expansive estate, the closest home you have to your school). She sits you both on your bed, and looks down at your arms, examining the scars, and then she goes to your closet, throws you clothing, and tells you to get dressed because apparently, she's taking you shopping for something that is not 'a crime to fashion.' You don't really understand how pinstripe pants are a crime to fashion--you always loved how mafiosos in the old movies you and Cronus used to watch with your dad (when you still lived with him, closer to the outskirts of the state, with a big luscious yard) wore those pants--but thats okay. A month and a half after, you go to school, and you've all but forgotten the shadows that haunted your middle school days. Kanaya manages to reconnect you with Feferi (and perhaps Cronus telling Meenah about the whole debacle you went through, and Meenah ending up telling her may have influenced it) and, now that you've overcome your own demons, Feferi tells you that you're more tolerable. You're still slightly bitter at times, but you're trying. Then you start dating Gamzee Makara, who you'd met previously in middle school and with whom you had held a tentative friendship.

And when Cronus comes into your room when you're doing your homework, flopping on your bed and demanding your attention, complaining about Mituna and Latula and Meenah yet again, you sigh, and relent to his inane bitching. You only half listen to him, reflecting.

Cronus Ampora, the cousin you started out hating, saved your life.

You think you're okay with that.


	3. "Bonding"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cronus Ampora discovers a sickening secret destroying his cousin piece by piece, without him even knowing it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!!! warning: mentions of non-con, memory relapse

Your stomach churns with revulsion and your lip twists in disgust as your hands tighten on the steering wheel. It takes your strength not to jerk your truck back around to go find the sick bastard who did this to your cousin who doesn't deserve any more shit like this.

Your name is Cronus Ampora, and you've learned a deadly secret. One that could all and well truly destroy your cousin, Eridan.

You feel like throwing up, actually. Your eyes are burning slightly and your head is pounding. You can't see straight and it causes you to almost run someone over (you manage to gather the wit enough to apologize, and then yell a polite "fuck you" when the guy flips you off). All you know is you need to see your cousin. You need to do right by him, before the timer goes off and the ticking bomb explodes, leaving him in utter, desolate, irredeemable ruin.

You don't think he could handle knowing what had been done onto him.

You feel sick just thinking about it.

You wish you'd done more than punch Gamzee. You wish, for a moment, that you'd given the fucker a taste of his own fucking medicine.

But then you see Eridan, mentally, and the desire to hurt Gamzee in the way he'd hurt Eridan disappears, because fuck. You don't want to think of Eridan, and imagine how he must have felt when it happened. You don't want to see that motherfucking Makara bitch and see your fucking cousin. You don't want to even begin to recreate the pain he must have been in; the emotional, the physical, the mental.

You feel even more nauseous when you realize that the sudden suicidal spike that Eridan had a few weeks ago must have been because of what had happened. He'd been so good, doing so well, and he'd had his life back. After you saved him, he'd gotten better, and for once you felt like you did the right thing, for once, in your fucked up life. And then, you found him sneaking fucking antrifreeze out from the garage again. You had felt so sick then, too, and you screamed at him like he would in fact die if you didn't. He merely screamed back, and the day had ended with him curled up on you, the two of you bundled in a blanket and dried tears on his face as you both watched the Godfather. But, that was the past and now was the present, and you were so, so emotionally exhausted. For a moment, you consider calling Kankri, and unloading your distress onto him. But then you think better; no need to burden him with such a horrendous thing. And no doubt that he'd spill all the beans and leave Eridan scarred. No. Eridan didn't need to find out that way. And Kankri definitely did not need to know.

You're stopped at a red and you pull out your cell phone, dialing Eridan's number and putting it on speaker. You set it down on the seat next to you, quietly seething as the blaring, shrill dial-tone cuts the near-silence (the engine of your car continues to hum, growling with a vengeance that you yourself feel deep in your chest and in the very being of your fucking soul). Eridan picks up; when he speaks, he sounds tired, and you deduce that he's got another migraine.

"Nnnhh... Fuck--Cro? Th' fuck do you w-want?"

You cringe at his stutter; you know the stutter only comes out when he's scared, or he's nervous, or uncomfortable or in pain or depressed or fucking suicidal--

"An' don't start fuckin' w-worryin' about the fuckin' stutter, either. I can practically hear you fuckin' thinkin'. M' heads in pain. Nightmare."

Your heart sinks. Was he remembering?

"Vwhat vwas it about, chief?"

He pauses for a moment and you can hear him audibly swallow. After a few moments, he speaks up.

"I don't know-w. I can't remember."

You almost die from the relief and close your eyes, biting at your lip.

"S'ok. Listen, chief, how 'bout vwe take a day out? Jus' the twvo of us. Like... a fuckin' brother's day or something."

"W-we ain't brothers, Cro."

"You get vwhat I mean you little snot."

He laughs and you feel a bit better.

"Yeah, yeah. Sure."

You sigh for a moment, thinking, and when he calls your name again, you jostle from your stupor, making a turn, and keeping as constant a speed as you can manage. "Kid. Go get your fuckin' migraine meds. Vwe're going out. I'll be home in like fiwve minutes."

"That's somethin' I can do. See ya 'round, Cro."

"Lowve ya, squirt."

You can imagine the grimace on his face as he speaks the next words.

"Don't fuckin' call me that, asshat."

You laugh as he gives you a quiet goodbye, a begrudging "lowe you too," and cuts the line. Your small, genuine happiness crumbles quickly, when you think of how he must have acted when it happened. You feel like crying.

* * *

When Eridan gets in the car, you greet him with the tightest fucking hug you've ever given him. He doesn't complain, much, until he starts shoving you and claiming he can't breathe. You say nothing at all, just burying your face in his hair, wanting so badly to say something, to make him aware of the travesty he was accosted with. You want him to know, you don't want him to live blindly suffering and never knowing why. He seems weirded out by your behavior and you don't blame him; if you were him, you would be too.

"So what's up with this?" His stutter is gone, and you feel relieved. At least he's not suffering anymore.

"Vwhat're ya talkin' about?" You merely respond, idly, trying to stave off answering. You start driving towards the mostly quiet branch off of the main city in your state. It's not too low-class (which is acceptable for him, and, secretly, you) but its also quaint, and the sun is actually out for once so looking at the sea would be something that you think your cousin would like very much. He looks out the window as you drive, slightly dazed for a few moments before speaking again.

"I'm talkin' about this. You newer suggest shit like this. What happened? Did you talk to anyone?"

"I'm not sayin' shit, little dude," You respond gruffly, eyebrow quirking slightly in agitation. Eridan huffs angrily, turning to give you a full-force pout.

"God damn it, Cro," He seethes, and you clench the steering wheel. "I'm not about ta fuckin' break! Tell me, god damn it!"

You pause for a moment, honestly considering it for a moment.

"...Gamzee."

You almost crash the car at the ugly, awful sound he makes, seeing the terrifying transition as his eyes seem to cloud over, glassy and suddenly terrified. He's holding his arms, hugging himself, almost for comfort, for protection.

"Nononono--"

You manage to pull over, shaking as you look him over with a special kind of suffering. You're stuck being fucking useless while your brother shakes, wide-eyed, and hes on the verge of tears. He looks so fucking pale, and the sheer terror and agony he looks to be in make you want to throw up. You feel so, so upset over this. You're so scared. You just want him to be okay.

"G-Gam-Gam -- Gam please, stop- stop--"

You make a noise in the back of your throat, watching the way he jerks and trembles, lost in a memory relapse. "Chief," You croak, softly, putting a hand on his shoulder. You shake him, lightly, and his eyes move to you, but you can tell he can't see you. "Chief-- Eridan, Eridan, fuck, please, calm dowvn."

He's shaking, and he moved one hand to his head; you watch him, swallowing dryly; you are so concerned and so fucking afraid. You've never seen him like this (but that could be because you've never talked to him about his ex). After a few moments, you see him look up; and he looks so tired. The fear is gone. The deep, raw, scarring emotional pain that had been present is gone. All thats there is his usual migraine-induced pain expression.

"C-Cro-? W-What's goin' on... w-what w-were ya sayin'?"

You're absolutely floored. You stare at him, looking at him; he doesn't seem to have any recollection of his freak-out at all. You watch as he pulls out a pill bottle from his pocket---his perscription migraine medication. He pops one of the tablets into his mouth, snagging one of the various water bottles you have laying around your truck from the cup-holder and taking a swig.

"Nothin'. Nothin' at all."

He scowls at you, and keeps on pestering you as you pull back into the road. After ten solid minutes of his incessant interrogation for information, he reluctantly gives up, and you almost sigh in relief. You weren't about to induce another one of those little attacks of his. This was something you'd have to ask his current boyfriend about. You wonder if Sollux ever had any problems with Eridan because of Gamzee.

You kind of feel sorry for your nemesis' brother.

Only a little though. And you swear, that if he ever, ever hurts your brother, you will murder him and drop his body on Latula and Mituna's doorstep with not a single shred of pity. No one was going to hurt your brother again if you had anything to say about it.

Not only had you done enough, but then Gamzee had gone and...

You decided to stop thinking about it, and Eridan turning on some shitty dubstep assists in your endeavors.

* * *

Your day consists of driving around; Eridan loved to sigh-see, even if the sights were one he was well familiar with. Traveling through the humid forests, cool and fresh and moist, were the favorite part. You had watched the winding roads, pensive. You had tthen arrived at your destination, the little cove with a quaint settlement; small restaurants, minimarts, a couple gas stations, but largely residential. You, personally, loved the place intensely so, and enjoyed driving near the sea. But the one who would be enjoying this, here, and now, would be Eridan. And he did. He stared out the window, almost completely enchanted by the scintillating water, moving with a kind of perpetual motion that you know he's always been fascinated with. It was intensely endearing. You'd almost forgotten how cute your stupid little cousin could be. Of course, not in the romantic attraction way, but, rather, maybe in a familial way. The way his eyes wrinkled at the corners and his lips quirked ever so slightly when he was truly content. You hoped he could still stay like that.

But even then, you knew that something had already changed in him. You think you remember there used to be a spark in his eyes; a shimmer, something that gave him a serene visage, a serene presence. But that light was robbed; even though he couldn't remember, his mind still had the information, still knew, in the deepest recesses, that he had been so intimately violated, so intimately damaged and there was no way to make that right.

You felt a wave of nausea again, so you kept driving.

When you get home, and park the car in the driveway, you watch Eridan's smile fade a little, almost as though he had been legitimately enjoying himself. You pat him on the shoulder, and he looks at you, the slightest bit startled; you feel yourself soften, and apparently its visible, because Eridan merely gives you a confused expression.

"Hey. Do ya vwant to vwatch the Godfather?"

The grin splits his face. You know that series, and in particular, that movie, is his absolute favorite.

"I'll make popcorn an' get the blankets."

"Get to it, chief."

He hops out of the car and walks to the door with a stride that could really only be described as on the verge of scrambling in sheer excitement. You make a frustrated sigh, watching him disappear into the house, and slam your head against the steering wheel, finally allowing yourself to quietly crumble under the pain of your newly acquired, destructive secret.

Eridan never deserved that.

Rape is a crime you couldn't ever forgive; and now, beyond the shadow of a doubt, would never forgive.


	4. "Recapitulation"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cronus waits, Eridan wakes, and the two settle a score.  
> (And though Cronus would never admit it, "I forgive you" were the words he needed to hear.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> final chapter, taking place around the time of eridans coma in future!intricacy!!! thanks for reading :3
> 
> warnings: a lot of cronus self hate, cronus pov, eridan in a coma, drinking and lewd language and fight and cronus being drunk!!! also talk of injury and brain injury

You clench the cold, pale clammy hand between two of your own, and you silently curse the many different ways that your eyes ache, trying to resist. You want to tuck him under the sheets, to keep him from getting so chilly; the room is drafty, and it's the only reason why you're wearing your favorite leather jacket at this moment. You still have it after 25 years because he got it for your birthday. You simply clench his hand tighter, gritting your teeth.

Your name is Cronus Ampora, and seeing Eridan like this hurts.

"C'mon, chief, you can do it. You can do it. Jus' squeeze your hand. Do it for me, vwould'ja?"

He doesn't respond and you clench your eyes shut.

He hasn't responded in four months.

You'd sent Sollux home; he was so exhausted, looking frailer and acting increasingly bitter and solemn, and it wasn't right. It wasn't right for Mituna's little brother to be so unresponsive to his own sibling, who ended up throwing a tantrum the last time he visited with Latula. That had been an ugly spat that you don't want to remember.

You know that Sollux regretted it, and you hate that you know it. You hate that you got involved in any of it.

It wasn't your fucking problem, but because of the asshole lying prone and helpless on the bed before you, it is now.

You heave a sigh, deep, exasperated, heavy, looking to the ring on his left hand. You look away. It hurts, really, to think, to see, and you cast your gaze on the bedside table, seeing the flowers—slowly wilting, failing against your cousin in the contest of time. You manage a weak smile when seeing that Sollux's brother had actually drawn Eridan a 'Get Well' card. Frankly, you two still didn't get along, at all, but your cousin and his brother dating toned down the animosity of your relationship and you were actually able to feel something other than contempt for him. Perhaps grudging acceptance, though you still miss the friend that you had in Mituna before he got his head fucked up.

You lean back, and run a hand through your hair with your brow slightly furrowed as you watch him take in deep, slow, measured breaths. Though, the nasal cannula probably plays a hand in that.  You move your hand, slowly, running it along his cheek, feeling the slight coarseness of his skin where there were still the remnants of burns from the explosion. You feel your stomach churn with revulsion at the imperfections that line his form, having known him as you did.

You take in a faltering breath when you remember the encounters of years past, when you were almost 27 years younger.

You were about 13 when you started. Eridan was 11, you think. You remember what it felt like to taste his lips, you remember what it felt like to have him under you, and you shake your head fiercely, grimacing as you remember your desperation for affection in any form possible. You try to forget the way that you’d taken control of him, how you’d sucked the life out of him until he was the apathetic husk of vengeance that almost ended your life when you were 15. You try to forget how you’d touched him, how you’d felt him hot and flushed against you, how you’d taken hold of him and twisted him. You at least didn’t have to claim credit for breaking him, at least, in that way; no, that, luckily, you were smart enough to avoid. You pulled your hand away from his skin, as though burned, cringing softly as you watched how unaffected he appeared.

“Oh, god, cous, I’m so fuckin’ sorry. I’m so vwery fuckin’ sorry for evwerything that I’wve done, and you don’t ewven know how sorry. No, course you vwouldn’t, and you newver vwill, because you’re in a fucking coma and I’m a fucking retard and I can’t fix this.”

You shake your head slowly, scooting your chair closer to his face, so you can speak to him more personally. Maybe you could convince yourself that he was listening. That he could even hear you. That they thought he was going to wake up, that they thought that he wasn’t sustaining brain injury, that he would be fine and you could make amends for the fuck-ups that you’d done as an ignorant youth.

“I don’t know vwhat I vwas doing, then. You remember. Vwhen vwe… I’m not ewven going to think about it evwer again. God. Fuck. I’m not good at this, and you know it you little shit.”

You will the image of a smile on his face, and in your mind, he is smiling, wide and bright with that stupid dumb glimmer in his eyes that he used to have before you took it from him, before everything took it from him, before he knew what the fucking institution was like, before he was locked up and drugged and practically chained down like a dog when he tried to hurt himself out of dementia. Due to experimental drugs, they’d said, to attempt to treat him.

Bullshit.

You’re glad that’s another thing that he doesn’t remember. He’s better off not knowing the things you really know.

“I… Don’t know how long I can do this. I don’t know how long I can manage to make myself stay here, vwatching you rot away in the one place you hate the most. Hey, Er, I hope you can hear me. I hope this is fucking doing something, and I’m not vwasting my breath and your hope. And mine.”

You reach a hand up, and you run your fingers through the bleached tuft that’s slowly fading, again.

You close your eyes and remember.

* * *

_“Oh, fuck, oh fuck oh god oh god Cronuth fuck—“_

_You had been so confused. Your stomach felt as though it’d been administered blocks of steel. Your lungs felt as though they were filled with mercury gas. Mituna’s little brother sounded like a mess, weeping and sniveling like a fucking baby. You knew something was wrong. You knew something was so very wrong, and in your gut you knew that it had to be Eridan, and you were in so much pain to come to the conclusion that you damn well hoped that the Captor boy had gotten robbed or raped; not Eridan, you didn’t want anything to happen to Eridan. At least if shit had hit the fan for Captor, you wouldn’t have to see your cousin suffering. You wouldn’t have to relive that experience again, you wouldn’t have to watch him sink into that terrible place again, at least if Captor got fucked over Eridan wouldn’t be the one hurt, he’d be the one helping not the one wishing to be dead—_

_You finally manage to make yourself speak, feeling a bit lightheaded with anxiety. You know, oh, god, you wish you didn’t. “Vwha—Captor, vwhat the fuck are you doing? Vwhy the fuck are you calling me up?”_

_He immediately makes the most piteous whimper you’ve ever heard, and you cringe, because oh, it’s real pain, real tangible pain that you know all too well. “Cronuth, he got- he got blown up, he got blown up overtheath while fighting in the Middle Eatht, he thaved two people’th liveth and he jutht got fucking flown here via medivac and I’m with him and I don’t know what to do help me-“_

_You choked up and you couldn’t speak._

_Oh, god. No. No. No no no nononono…_

_“Cronuth? Cronuth, what—Cronuth thay thomething oh my god-“_

_“Sorry chief I—I just. Fuck. Send me the address, kid, I’m on my vway.”_

_You hung up and resisted the urge to weep._

* * *

You cringe and you bow your head, feeling the slightest warmth of sun hit your neck.

You remember how he’d told you that originally they were keeping your cousin in a medically induced coma, to prevent any potential damage, and at first you were hopeful that he’d wake up after they stopped inducing the coma. But your hope melted away into bitter despair when you realized it wasn’t to be; instead, Eridan continued to be unresponsive, and after two months, to this present day, you feel bitter and angry. You wish your cousin would wake up. You almost miss him.

You hate this world, so much, so long as Eridan has to be the martyr.

“Hey.”

You look up, slowly, warily, and see Kankri standing in the doorway. You grimace, softly, and move to release Eridan’s hand, face flushing slightly in the lightest of embarrassment.

“Don’t feel as though you need to shield yourself from me,” Kankri said gently, eyes slightly lidded to add to the pitying expression he bore for you. You simply grimace.

“Yeah. Vwhatewver.”

He looks almost hurt in a way, and you merely groan softly with the barest of pent aggravation. You would rather not offend your only comrade who stuck with your bullshit thick and thin. You’d rather keep him close. You always want to keep him close. “Look, Kan, it ain’t your fault, okay? I’m just…”

“Yes, I know. I always know.”

His arms feel nice and comforting when he wraps them around your shoulders, resting his cheek against your hair. He looks at Eridan while holding you and you can feel the withering breath he makes, almost a wispy sigh. “Karkat sends his condolences. He’s taking care of Sollux now. He gathered a small group, just him their friends. It’s a hard time right now.”

“Howv’d you evwen get in here?” You asked tiredly. He smiles at that, and flashes his left hand at your face. You blink and you’re confused because—well, you didn’t think that it would actually let him get into the ICU.

“I’m family enough.”

You really do love him sometimes.

* * *

One of the duties that you and Sollux shared without a single complaint was the biweekly ritual of making sure that his bleached streak was maintained. You tilted his head back, a nurse there to make sure you didn’t break his neck or something in the process or rip his stitches or what the fuck ever, and had her waiting there for when you would need to wash the bleach out of his streak. You had slowly applied the bleach to patch of hair in the same manner that you’d seen him do for a long time when he still lived in the mansion.

“Hey, cous. I hope you fucking appreciate this.”

You wish he would smile for you.

Your heart clenches when he doesn’t do anything, and if it wasn’t for the fact that you’d lose the privilege of doing this little thing for him, you’d have dropped his head to back away and cry.

And yet, you keep your stiff upper lip and you finish the job, before going to find the outlet to plug in the hair dryer for later. You lay a towel over his pillow, and his shoulders, keeping his hair as still as possible to avoid any staining.

You sat there, and waited. While you waited, you talked.

You so wish he could answer you.

* * *

You’re at home now, and Kankri’s in the shower and had been grading papers (you hate the fact that he chose to be a history teacher, because seriously, that fucking homework and essays cut into your personal time) when your phone starts to ring. Since you’ve taken to degrading your social life, with little will to exert anything lately, you grab the phone with a lackluster excitement (you’re fooling yourself because really you wish it was Eridan calling you) and you answer.

“ ‘Ello?”

“Hey, fish butt, get your bass up an’ come out with Dams and I or so kelp me I’m gonna gut you,” Responds the ever gritty and so delightful voice of one of your oldest acquaintances, Meenah you-wanna-fucking-strangle-her Peixes.

“And vwhat if I don’t vwanna, princess?” You don’t even manage to make your reply sound even remotely emoted.

“We’re glubbin’ outside, dumbass, don’t fuckin’ disappoint us,” Was the only response before you heard some shuffling and an angered hiss.

“我々はすでに外で待っています。の小さなの陰茎をご白痴を急いでください。我々はあなたがシャープと苦しい厨房のオブジェクト釜を掘るでしょう。”

You roll your eyes and grit your teeth. “Delightful as alwvays, Megido. Come to think of it, you just came back in towvn, didn’t ya?”

“あなたはそれを知っているだろう。私は、あなたが実感し驚きだ。あなたの脳がはあなたの微小チンコの中であることを考慮。そして、それ時間は使用だけはVantasをクソているとき脳があると述べた。”

“Uh… right, I have no fucking idea vwhat you jus’ said toots. Ugh. Kan vwould probably tell me to get the fuck out vwith you fuckers.”

“I am saying it. Cronus, please, you need to get out for a little air… Being cooped up here and at the naval hospital is not good for you, and certainly Eridan would not like you coddling him like this.” You cringe and almost drop the phone when you hear Kankri padding his way over to you, and you look over your shoulder as you look him over. Pale skin, dark burgundy hair still wet from the shower, dressed in one of his many housecoats. You raise an eyebrow at him and he merely gazes back at you passively. “Some time outside in places that I don’t like to go may do you some good, actually. And I know you don’t want to, but I would implore you to consider taking some time away from the psychological stre—mpph-“

“Kan, seriously, I vwas kinda getting vworked up but you’re kinda giwvin’ me a complete boner kill here!” He glares at you as he tries to pry your palm off his mouth, and you just chuckle a little before patting him on the head. You can hear Meenah bitching on the other end of the line.

“Yeah, yeah, toots, I’ll go out in a sec. Lemme slip on some clothes and be less gross.”

She huffs and you smile in dry amusement as she responds, “You’re always gross you fish mongerfucker.”

“That vwas vweak.”

“Fuck you!”

* * *

When you return home you are well truly and blissfully smashed.  You stumble out of the car, waving dumbly at Aranea (who ended up taking the bus to drive you and Meenah home since Damara stayed to ‘have some fun’ with this kid who looks a little too young for her but then again, who are you to judge?) and Meenah as they return to their place, and you’re left to stumble up to the door of your house and fumble with the keys in your pocket. Your face feels hot and you lean against the door a little too much, so it shocks you something fierce when the door opens and you end up falling through and hitting the ground.

“Oh, Cronus.”

You blink, making a groan as Kankri helps you up; you look at him, and frankly he looks nothing short of fucking gorgeous with the way the moonlight makes his hair look even softer than normal, and the way it brings out his lips and that little beauty mark that usually gets covered by his hair (and it seems to be a commonality in the Vantases anyways). But now he’s furrowing his brow and pursing his lips at you and you do nothing but pet his hair and smile for a moment.

“Hey Kannnn, I’m—Hey, how evwen are ya?”

“Cronus, of all days you decide to get drunk today? I would have hoped you would have remembered that we’re visiting your cousin tomorrow.”

Your heart crumples suddenly and you feel like throwing up. Your face grows tight, eyes wide, and Kankri suddenly looks like he grievously erred. But, on the subject of throwing up. That’s pretty much what you do; shove Kankri away, roll onto your knees, and heave, your mind flashing to copious handfuls of painful horrendous memories that you and you alone created. You remember all the times you coerced your cousin, all the times you hurt him, all the times he covered bruises and bites and scratches and how miserable he got. In this state, thinking of all of this, you finally remember what his eyes truly looked like, now that you’re looking at all that you saw but didn’t really see; you realize how broken you made him, you realize how dead his eyes were, you realize how worn he was and you only made it so much worse—

You don’t realize how bad you’re bawling until Kankri’s shaking you on the shoulders and giving you a concerned, and frazzled expression. “Oh, Cronus, I’m so sorry, I’m so, so deeply sorry, I must have—I triggered you, didn’t I, I’m so sorry, I didn’t think, and you—“

“Oh, gods, Kan, I hurt him so much how vwill he ewver forgiwve me I completely ruined him he vwas right to try an’ fuckin’ kill me Kan I really did do terrible things I fuckin’ molested him and used him and hurt him an’ how the fuck do I evwen call him my cousin or ewven fuckin family I ruined ruined ruined ruined him, I can’t-“

He slaps you, and the shock of it puts you into silence. He looks remorseful, he looks scared, and he looks like he wants to be sick too. But he just puts his hands on your shoulders, eyes a little too bright (its tears you realize and you make a weak sob out of simply feeling awful for making Kankri so upset) and presses his lips against your forehead. “Shhh,” He merely says. “Shhh.”

You tremble and shake, feeling nauseous and gross and you are disgusted at wearing your own skin, and never before have you found yourself feeling such a dysphoria as now. You wish you were what you wanted to be, because maybe being an aquatic creature as deadly and unconcerned with familial affairs as a shark would be a lot fucking better than this.

You weep and snot and cough around the burning that throwing up had left you, and Kankri helps you stagger to your feet, helping you to not step in your own bile (and he mutters that he’ll clean it up after he gets you settled in) and you find yourself staggering to the bedroom. He lays you down on your side of the bed, pulling off your pants and your shirt and pulling the covers over you. He pats your face, and hums gently, eyes closed and face twisted slightly into a grieving expression. He feels terribly for you. He feels sorry for you.

You don’t want him to, because you don’t fucking deserve it.

“Kan, vw-vwhy don’t you fuckin’ hate me, oh, God,” You whisper, hoarsely, laying a hand over your face as you whimper and squirm. He sighs softly.

“Cronus… It’s not my place to interlude. It’s not my place to interfere. I don’t know what you did, I don’t know how it came to be, I don’t know anything Cronus, but it’s not my place to interfere. You need to talk with Eridan—“

“How could I do that if he vwon’t ewven look at me! He’s disgusted vwith me—“

“He’s in a coma, Cronus—“

“DON’T _FUCKING_ LIE TO ME, YOU PIECE OF SHIT!”

You’ve never screamed at him like that. The idea alone that you’ve yelled at him in such a way, that you’ve been fighting him this whole time, that you may as well have been attacking him makes you reel back, eyes widened as you watch him crumble. He presses his hands into his face and he shakes, and you freeze up as you hear gentle little sobs that he’s desperately trying to muffle. He was clearly hoping that you’d continue your rant so he could vent a little in peace. You crumple into pained sympathy and you roll clumsily onto your stomach, propping yourself up on your elbows as you yank an arm around him, pulling him down onto the bed, and you wrap your arms around him. He just shakes, jerks in your arms with silent misery as you hold him and whisper a stream of desperate drunken apologies into his too soft hair.

 You find your eyes heavy as you tighten your hold on him, feeling him choke and whimper against you with the frantic intent of swallowing his grief. You want him to calm down, you don’t want to hurt him anymore. He may be a grown man, now, but you still see him as your little Kankri, a small little thing that you wanted to protect, that you wanted to keep, that you wanted to hold and cherish and appreciate, you still see him as the meek little kid you first met in high school, you remember him as the kid who used to hide behind Latula before she started dating Mituna, you remember him and you want to protect him and

You’re asleep before you realize you are.

 

You awaken the next morning with a killer headache and a tear-stained Kankri pressed into your chest. You blink, tasting gross morning breath combined with the taste of acid and you grimace, shuffling slightly as you try to resist the urge to empty your stomach contents. Hangovers were fucking stupid.

You hiss, you’re squinting your eyes as you shuffle one hand from Kankri’s waist to press against your face. You can only vaguely remember what happened last night.

“Kan?”

He blinks at you with these bloodshot eyes and it is nothing short of alarming to you. He groans and presses his face into your chest.

“Please, cease speaking and let me recuperate from the trying events of the previous night.”

“Kan, vwhat’s vwrong, vwhat’s up vwith you?”

He hisses softly and lightly pushes at your chest.

“If you’re not going to cease yammering on when I’ve attempted to politely request that you not, the least you can do is to get up and get me a medication for my headache.”

That left you significantly shocked for words. Especially since you were pretty sure that you were the one with the hangover here. But then you remembered belatedly that stress got him physically ill.

“…Vwhat did I say, Kan.”

“…Things that are meant only for Eridan’s ears.”

You feel like throwing up again. However, while you are distracted he extracts from your arms, and trudges off down the hall. You scamper up, and staggered after him, and see him cleaning up the floor. You vaguely remember throwing up last night and some memories return in hazes. You try to explain, swaying slightly as currently your balance is largely compromised, but he shakes his head and sighs.

“Cronus, please, don’t. Not now. It’s not my place. You need to flesh it out with Eridan, but I’m not going to judge you over what you did when I wasn’t around. Just—go visit him, and leave me to rest. I’m awfully drained.”

“… I’ll leawve you the medicine out, okay?” You don’t think you’ve ever spoken so quietly. He doesn’t look at you as he raises his head a little from his task, back turned to you, and nods slowly.

“That would be nice.”

You feel awful.

 

When you come home that night, Kankri’s ordered pizza, sitting on the couch, sneaking a bite of a breadstick, and there’s some Mountain Dew on the table; he looks up at you when you come home, wearing a robe again, and smiles at you.

You feel a lot better then.

* * *

It’s been another month. All the time he’s been unconscious you’ve been apologizing even more and more for every little thing you’d done, from pushing him off the swings to breaking his pencils to molesting him.

The doctors are starting to say something about pulling him off life support. You fought them tooth and nail with Sollux in tow the moment they even thought of it. But then, before the whole war between you two and the medical staff could set in, strange things started happening. Eridan started waking up, or so Sollux says. But that’s not the strange part. You managed to witness one of these fits, and certainly, you had to agree with him.

Sollux had said that he woke up but he wasn’t aware of anything, and acted almost wrong; as though it weren’t even Eridan there, but something else, and it scared you when he said that.

You hated that he was right.

One time you had been there, with Sollux, and Eridan had been acting his normal self; that is, to say, unconscious. But then, you jumped as you heard a loud, long sound, one that sounded like a whimper, a cry, breathy and cracking. You jerked your head to the side, eyebrows furrowed as you saw Eridan shaking, wide-eyed as he choked up, jaw dropped and hands seized up. Sollux rushed over to Eridan’s other side, grasping one of his wrists, looking at him with frantic eyes.

“Eridan!”

Your fucking cousin was shaking, rasping for air, wide eyed with a strange, hazy unknowing to them, and it scared you. You put a hand on his cheek, feeling pity rise up. “Chief,” You managed to choke out, softly. “Chief, please-“

He wheezed and looked at Sollux and clenched his fists and choked out a cough.

“S—o-o-o-o-l-“

He was choked off. It was terrifying. You were terrified.

“Help me,”

“HELP ME”

“HELP ME!”

You shook your head violently.

You didn’t want to think about it anymore.

As of now, you were just sitting there, brushing your hair out of your face as you worked on your bike in the garage of your house. You were wearing your worst clothing; a pair of ripped jeans, a white shirt with a purple Aquarius symbol (you and your cousin, born two days apart, two years apart) with the sleeves ripped and rolled up to your shoulders, and some ratty old sneakers. Your hair is greased back and you’re on your knees, some oil or grease or some shit staining your cheeks and it’s a bit uncomfortable but you’ve gotten used to it. You tighten a screw on the damn thing, hoping that will fix it and you won’t need to replace the transmission when your phone rings. You blow out the smoke from your cigarette and go over to grab the phone, and answer.

“Yo, vwhat’s goin’ on?”

“He’th awake.”

You end the call, shove the phone in your pocket, and swing yourself onto your bike. You open the garage, hit the gas, and are relieved when the engine roars to life.

You almost broke several speeding laws, you think.

 

You arrive at the hospital, crush your cigarette under your heel and storm into the hospital, demanding your cousin’s room. They tell you, and you rush there, sneakers squeaking against the nauseating linoleum floor.

You break into the room, looking in and you can’t breathe for a moment. Eridan looks up tiredly from the bed, and you look into his eyes for the first time in almost a year; after all, you hadn’t seen him since when he’d shipped off.

“…Cro,” He says, and he sounds pleasantly surprised. Sollux smiles a little, looking a little better than he has in a long time, and stands up, walking out of the room (but not before clasping a hand on your shoulder and nodding slightly). You walk in, slowly, warily, and you sit in the chair Sollux had been sitting in.

The first thing you do, however, is punch him in the arm. He makes a yelp, jumping, and glaring at you as he rubs his arm.

“The fuck was that for, you fuckin’ asshole?”

You glare at him evenly, managing barely to suppress the tears you want to shed, and respond appropriately. “Thought you said you vweren’t gonna die on me.”

He just smirked at you, tiredly. God, he looked so fucking tired and it was almost physically painful. “Cro, I’m pretty fuckin’ sure I ain’t in the afterlife ‘cause there’s no fuckin’ way in hell that you an’ Sol are both dead, and I’m also pretty fuckin’ sure I ain’t a fuckin’ ghost.”

You just hiss at him and pinch his nose. He swats at you lightly. “It’s certainly fucking close enough you little shit.”

You grew quiet for a moment, and he looked at you in confusion. Flustering slightly, you grabbed his streak and literally pulled it down so that it would cover his eyes. He yelped, jolting slightly, lightly irritated but mostly surprised.

“Bleached this for you, too.”

He looked at you, frowning softly, but you didn’t know what to say. You’d spoke so much, revealed yourself and made yourself fully vulnerable, but he didn’t even know. You swallowed, and, nervous, and unable to say anything, you just pulled yourself up. You felt awkward, and so out of place here. You didn’t deserve to be here; Sollux did. The one he really loved deserved to be here, not you, not some fucking bum.

“Later, cous.”

You turn and go to leave, and are almost at the door when Eridan calls out for you.

“Wait, Cro!”

You stop, looking at the wall, feeling your heart pound.

“… I forgiwe you.”

You swivel on your heels, eyes wide as you look back. He’s smiling at you. He has this gentle, almost serene look on his face, and it’s almost accepting, forgiving in a way.

You wince. You don’t know what to do, what to say, how to respond, whether to start sobbing grossly or just stand there and look completely and utterly uncool.

“… Yeah. I. I’m gonna bring in Captor Junior.”

You turn away, shoulders hunched as you walk out. You know Eridan knows.

Later, you would talk to him about his ailment; his crippling. You would be there for him, you would be his shoulder when he needs to cry on him, you’d be there for his little family, you’d be there for him and Sollux and their damn kid too, and you’d be one of the ones to help Eridan walk again. You’d be more than a cousin, you’d be essentially his brother, you’d be the person you should have been, supportive and caring and you’d be someone Eridan could look up to, that he could lean on, someone likeable; a genuinely good person.

But for now, you smiled shakily.

That was all you really needed to hear.


End file.
